I know what it feels like to be illiterate. To have all this feeling built up inside with no way to express it. I want to write, to draw, to pour out my complicated insides so that they're no longer caged but I don't know how.
I remember when my 2-year old nephew grew frustrated because he wanted more cereal but didn't have the tools to ask. He reached for the box and began to cry.
I reach for my pencil and want to cry.
I don't have the skill to create.
My insides still do not have a voice.
So I practice.
I gave up everything I knew to find a quiet place. And now I am arriving and but the journey's just begun.
Learning to draw.
Learning to see.
Learning to fall.